A Single Snowdrop
by Scarlett Hawkson
Summary: The night before the Final Battle, Luna ponders over her past, present and future. One shot.


It is the night before the final battle. Nobody knows for sure that it will be the final battle; we just all immediately assume so. Funny how that is, don't you think?

Although everyone but me is asleep, I can feel the tension in the air. Their worried, all of them. They've been talking so much about tomorrow, about dying. Talking so much about the subject that their thoughts twirl around it, thinking of nothing else. They all say we might die tomorrow. We might die tomorrow and I'm awake, polishing my radish earrings. I might as well do it with magic, but it's so much more soothing to just hand polish them. If I'm going to die, I might as well do it in style.

I see an ant on the floor, scuttling around on the kitchen floor to find some crumbs. He doesn't seem tense. I'm not tense either; I'm not worried about tomorrow. I've accepted the risks of what might happen tomorrow, and I'm calm. I don't dread tomorrow like they do. That's good, actually. I don't know how I would survive if I felt like them.

I continue scrubbing my earrings with the ragged cloth- they must be perfect. I tuck a single strand of blonde hair behind my ear. I inherited my hair from my mother. She had curly blonde hair as well. When I was little I would run my small hands through her hair, enjoying the silkiness of it.

When my mother died I was shocked. So shocked that I was numb and a chill went down my spine every time her name was mentioned. I couldn't believe- couldn't understand it. And then at her burial, I realized the truth- she was gone and I would never see her again. I would never see her smile, smell her perfume or eat her homemade cookies. Then I began crying- no, wailing. I locked myself into my room after the burial, and I wailed. I wailed until my throat felt as though it was cracking. I screamed, but no matter how loudly I screamed, it would never be loud enough. I punched my closet until there came a crack in the closet door, but that wasn't satisfying because I knew that she would never come and scold me for it. I hated everything and everyone. I had a lump in my throat so large it hurt- but I hardly noticed. I only noticed that my heart was ready to tear itself out of my body and run away. And then the tears came. The tears came suddenly, and I was no longer angry but devastated. I cried and, and cried, feeling desperate. But then, I stopped crying. Instead I sulked. I had shed all my tears, but I felt as though I couldn't go on. That had been in the winter- the dark skies matched my mood perfectly. I hid myself in my bed. Christmas came yet I felt outside. I couldn't enjoy the festivities. I envied those that could and hated those that didn't understand. I looked at the world with gloom. I understood the jokes, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh or even smile at them. What irritated me the most was the concern that I got from others. Didn't they understand that I just wanted to be left alone in my only little miserable world?

And then the spring came. When I got up in the mornings I would see the light shining in through my windows, the grass was growing on my mother's grave, and small snowdrops were fighting for life in the cold ground, surrounded by the melting snow. It was then that I realized something- life isn't worth living if you sit in the dark, not enjoying anything, worrying, not believing. So I brightened. The change occurred over a period of time less than two weeks.

I no longer worry. I accept the facts for what they are. I accept that I have a certain time left. Whether I have the rest of the night left to live or the rest of the century, I must enjoy it as much as possible. And if I can't? Then it really was a wasted life.

The ant continues running around, finding no crumbs. Poor ant. We all expect food when we step into a kitchen.

I hold my earrings at arms length, scrutinizing them- I find no fault in them. I place the earrings on the kitchen table and deliver a jaw cracking yawn. I've been up too late.

I head down the hallway to use the bathroom before I go to bed, whistling "Weasley is our king." I love that song, I always have. It has such a nice tune.

"How can you be so happy, Luna?"

The voice is soft, yet criticizing; shocked, yet blunt. I stop my whistling and I turn around, facing the person. His face is half hidden in the dark corner in which he huddles. He must be cold- it's March. His eyes are wide behind his glasses and his arms are wrapped around his knees. It's almost as though he wants to hide, to sink into the wall and disappear.

"Harry?"

I stand, staring at him for a few moments. He's shaking and his eyes are glossy. He is clearly not himself.

"Are you okay?" I ask, as I sit down on the floor next to him.

"How can you be so happy?" He asks once more, his voice trembling.

"I'm not happy," I try to explain. "I'm just… calm."

We sit in silence for a few moments. Harry stares at the floorboards and I study my fingernails. I try not to act uncomfortable, even though I am. But he clearly doesn't notice it.

"I don't want tomorrow to happen," he finally says.

"Sorry?" I ask, thinking that I've misunderstood him.

"I don't want tomorrow to happen. I- what if I fail? What if I let everyone down? I'm not ready to take that chance- I'm- I'm seventeen!" He bursts out. "I dread tomorrow more than anything."

I know just what to say to that- it's something that I found out long ago. Looking him straight in the eye, I say, "Dread is awfully stupid thing."

He looks at me, confusion clear on his features. "You can never know how awful something will ever be," I continue. "If you approach something with gloom, it will never be anything else. But if you look at it brightly, then maybe it won't be so bad."

He sneers. I've never seen him sneer before, and it somehow doesn't fit his character. "What about my parents?" he asks. "They seemed to be pretty happy- and look what happened to them! _Voldemort _murdered them!"

"We're all going to die someday," I shrug. "It's about making it everything as wonderful as possible while it's still here."

"But, if I fail tomorrow, then what? Then it'll all be over… lost." He puts his head in his hands. "If Voldemort kills me, I'll never get another chance."

"Well Voldemort isn't really that good at killing you, is he?" I say, but he doesn't smile. "Come on; let's have a cup of tea." I stand up and he follows suit.

We walk silently to the kitchen. Every once in a while I turn around to make sure he's following me.

I get out two mugs while he settles down. I wave my wand to make the water boil, and in a few minutes, the tea is ready.

I sit down opposite him at the kitchen table. "So you're worried about tomorrow," I say, and he nods. "Well, even if Voldemort does kill you, everyone will remember you anyway."

"Yeah," he says. "As a failure."

"No" I cry. "You've tried, Harry! You could've turned your back on all your responsibilities- your destiny. Everyone on both sides knows that no one could have been better for this prophecy than you. You'll be remembered as a hero, even if you-know- I mean, _Voldemort _kills you."

I've never said that name before. After the surprise, I feel relieved- I've finally gotten that name out of my mouth. I'm proud too, of course. No other Ravenclaw in my year has done that.

"The only way to get through life," I continue. "Is to savor every moment, and not worry and dread the following day. Don't be careless- accept the facts, and don't worry. Things will happen- things that we have no control over. The only thing to do is to try your best and hope that you get through it all."

Harry stares at me. I know what he's thinking- he never thought that I could think like that, and say such things. I smile shyly- it's a bit uncomfortable the way he's just looking at me.

But then his face breaks out into a smile, charming all his features. "You know what, Luna?" I shake my head. "I think you're right on that one. I really do."

Smiling, I get up and walk over to the window overlooking the garden. Snow covers the majority of the garden, and some of the puddles have frozen into glassy, beautiful ice. But one flower is fighting- one flower has come out of the snow alive and well. That is when it dawns on me that no matter what, we will all come out of this just as nicely as the flower. Perhaps not all of us, but the spirit will survive. Just like that flower.

Just like a single snowdrop.

_Fin. _


End file.
